Empire of the Saviours (Chronicles of/Cosmic Warlord 1) (24 page)

‘As you say, Peculiar. I represent my entire kind with this visit, so indeed it does not matter.’

‘For reference, how long has passed since your last visit?’

‘Some three hundred years, give or take.’

‘Is the world much changed? How fares your Empire? It can’t be faring too well if you’re having to visit me.’

‘On the contrary,’ the elseworlder replied smoothly. ‘And perhaps you will soon see for yourself. But I am curious. What have you been doing for the last three centuries? What is it you do here in this chamber on your own? What sustains you? Does not the sun-metal stop almost all energy from entering?’

The Peculiar stifled a yawn. ‘Didn’t you ask me these questions during your last visit, and the ones before that? I keep myself busy, you know. I sleep a bit, meditate a bit, compose terrible verse, you know, the usual sort of thing, much like
you
do, I imagine. As to how I sustain myself, well, anticipation of your next delightful visit, Thraal, is all I need to keep me going. But enough of my impure thoughts of you. What is it I can do for you?’

The elseworlder blinked slowly, as if committing each word the Peculiar had said to memory or as if silently sharing the words with others of its kind. ‘We wish you to deliver a particular boy to us. He has the sorts of powers at his disposal we have not seen among the People in a long time. We wish you to end the plague that has begun in the southern region. We suspect there is a connection between the boy and the plague.’

‘Fancy that! An old-fashioned bringer of plagues and curses.’ The Peculiar smiled with an air of nostalgia.

‘There is a third thing that we wish.’

‘Oh, sorry if I interrupted. I’m not good at standing on ceremony, you know. I get backache, you see, and that then brings on my piles. Terrible trouble they give me. Blood and everything. Had some turn septic once.
Very
nasty. Do you ever get ’em? Piles, I mean?’

‘We wish you to deliver a woman of stone to us. She broke out of a mine in the north. She was last seen heading towards Old Fort. This way.’

‘Don’t want much, do you?’

‘Explain please, Peculiar. I do not understand your words and manner.’

‘Are your kind incapable of dealing with such apparently trivial matters? You have a whole Empire at your disposal, complete with Saints, Heroes, Ministers and slaves to clean your cesspits, do you not?’

‘We will build you a seventh chamber although it will use up the Empire’s entire reserves.’

‘Do you know, Thraal, if I didn’t know better, I’d say you sounded desperate. Tell me, why has the mad one begun to scream again?’

Thraal hesitated. Then he said evenly, ‘We believe the Geas has finally begun to move.’

‘Well, why didn’t you say so before? That’s put a different spin on things. All right, I’ll do it. Two conditions, however.’

‘What are your conditions, Peculiar?’

‘First, I want the seventh chamber built even if I complete only two of the three tasks, and second, I want a helmet fashioned entirely of sun-metal provided to me before I set out.’

‘Then a binding bargain is struck between us.’

‘And I want you wearing something nice for my return, Thraal. Those stiff and dowdy robes of yours really do you no favours at all. Have you thought of something with a bit of colour? Red, maybe, although that might make your face look even more washed out. Green, perhaps. Just what colour are your eyes?’

‘We need the tasks to be completed as soon as possible.’

The Peculiar released an exaggerated sigh. ‘You really are no fun, are you? Very well. I will go out into the world as soon as my helmet is delivered to me. Make it a large size so I can grow into it. And no scrimping! I know what you lot are like. I’m sure the walls of the sixth chamber are thinner than the others. Make sure the metal in the helmet is good and thick.’

‘… and his wife made him sleep in the dog’s kennel every day after that for the rest of his life,’ Jacob finished.

Aspin laughed loudly. He must have heard a tale about everyone in Godsend by now, yet the trader showed no signs of running out. ‘Tell me something about Saviours’ Paradise then. I’ve only been there once before, and that was when I was younger.’

Jacob’s busy eyebrows beetled up the expanse of his forehead. ‘Indeed? Well, I heard some people spend their whole lives without stepping foot beyond the walls of their own town. Why, old Yulia in Godsend reckons she’s not had cause to venture beyond her own veranda in the last ten years, what with a strapping son like—’

‘What about Saviours’ Paradise though?’

‘What? Oh yes, Saviours’ Paradise. Well, see, the trees are now giving way to open fields. All the land as far as the eye can see belongs to the town. It’s a large place, bigger than Godsend and Heroes’ Brook combined, by my reckoning, prosperous too. But for all its wealth, the people are renowned for being very particular with their coin, if you take my meaning. I’m not one to speak ill of a neighbour, mind, but there’s some I’ve heard describe them as mean and miserly. Not sure I’d say as much myself, but they certainly drive a hard bargain when it comes to trade – I guess that’s how they’ve become so rich, eh? They like to dicker plenty, see, so if you want a good price for your skins, young Aspin, be prepared to wrangle till sundown or even the next day, if you have the time. There’s some that will leave you dangling till the end of the market so that you’ll take whatever price is offered in desperation.’

Jacob finally took a breath then continued. ‘The problem is that Saviours’ Paradise has so many people coming to it, their traders can afford to walk away from a deal if they don’t like a particular price, and can buy from somebody else instead. Worse, the traders of Saviours’ Paradise are well organised. They have a Chief Trader, see, called John Largeson, and he’s large by name and large by nature. You can’t miss his girth. If Chief Trader John lets it be known none of the traders in Saviours’ Paradise is to pay beyond a particular price for your skins, say, then no one will pay beyond that price. So stay on his good side if you should run into him. You may need to give him a free sample, if you take my meaning. Then there’s the issue of the traders from other towns having to buy a permit if they’re to set out a stall and start selling in the town’s marketplace. Eight silvers the permit costs, can you believe, though the permit is good for a year. So traders from other towns have to charge more for their goods to cover the cost of the permit, which means they’re usually more expensive than traders from Saviours’ Paradise, see?’

‘But I don’t have eight silvers,’ Aspin objected.

‘Hmm. Well, you can just walk around carrying your wares and someone will come up and whisper a price to you. If it’s to your liking you might then follow them to a quiet place to make an exchange, but there are risks with that. Sometimes, you’ll find that someone has the local guard standing by to have you arrested for trading without a permit. Your goods will of course be confiscated and you’ll never see them again – that’s the best that will happen, if they don’t decide to make a bloody example of you, see? Otherwise, you can try selling direct to traders from Saviours’ Paradise outside the walls, but you won’t get much of a price there, and there are plenty of guards around to ensure traders from other towns aren’t all doing deals with each other and all but setting up a rival market. Worst comes to the worst, young Aspin, I’ll let you sell your wares off my stall once I’ve set it up. I’ll only take a copper a skin off you for the privilege – it’s the least I can do for the good company you’ve shared with me on our journey here.’

Aspin smiled. He didn’t need to be a soul-reader to know this man: Jacob was largely honest but still a trader at heart. The offer was a fair one. Jacob would be as good as his word and Aspin understood enough to know he needed to secure some of the coin of this Empire if he was ever going to survive in it. ‘Thank you, good man Jacob. I will accept your offer if I may.’

‘Of course, young Aspin. Here, let’s shake on it. All well and good. I will need to stop outside the walls for a while, to renew certain acquaintances, find out any news about traders in Saviours’ Paradise and so forth. You can wait on me if you like or look around the town and find my stall later.’

Aspin knew that once Jacob got gossiping with the other traders he might be more than just
a while
. ‘I’ll take the chance to look around the town if you don’t mind, get a sense of the people and their wealth, and so forth.’

Jacob nodded approvingly. ‘Smart thing to do. Why, I remember—’

‘Just one more thing, good man Jacob, while we’re on the topic of Saviours’ Paradise. Are the people particularly … religious? Do they quickly bend the knee to their betters?’

For once Jacob struggled for words. ‘Well, I … That is … Yes, of course! I dare say they’re as faithful to the Saviours as any other townsfolk. I hope I didn’t give you the wrong impression about them with my talk of their appetites when it comes to trade. The traders of Saviours’ Paradise greatly benefit all the communities! Why, I happen to know that Chief Trader John is an extremely generous benefactor of Minister Baxal and always pays more than the necessary tithe at the temple. Don’t dare speculate otherwise, young Aspin, for we would not want to cause the traders of Saviours’ Paradise unnecessary trouble with the holy Saint, now would we?’ Then Jacob gasped and looked queasy.

‘Does something ail you, good man Jacob?’

In a faint voice the trader replied, ‘The holy Saint always knows. He will have heard us. O Saviours, forgive our jealous and impure thoughts! Young Aspin, join me in a prayer of repentance.’

Aspin murmured nonsense to play along. It appeared that the lowlanders referred to the others as the Saviours, and prayed to them. It was clear that Jacob believed the Saviours had the sorts of powers gods would have, but how could that be? The others were normal beings, or so his people had always thought. Yet how could normal beings have toppled the old gods? How could a man defeat his own god? It was preposterous, wasn’t it?
Why
would a man even want to defeat his own god?

He scratched his head. Perhaps a man would want to ascend to the place of the god, as the Saviours had done. Perhaps a man would simply want to be free of the god. Both reasons made sense. Now he thought on it, he was not sure just why he would want to find and help restore the old gods anyway. Wasn’t he simply being manipulated by Torpeth? Why would he actually want to raise a new authority over himself? Besides, who was to say the Saviours weren’t actually an improvement on the old gods? From all that Jacob had told him, the lowlanders were happy in their Empire, prosperous and relatively free to live their own lives. Could it be that Aspin’s people might actually be better off in the Empire?

He sighed, remembering something of his revelation from the sacred grove of yews. It always came back to the Geas. The old gods had been protectors of the Geas, the life force of the world. In replacing those gods and creating an Empire in which they ruled over the majority of the people in this world, the Saviours were close to having the Geas at their command. If it were not for the likes of Aspin’s own people eluding them, the rule of the Saviours would be all but absolute. Then it depended upon the intentions of the Saviours towards the Geas. If their intentions were entirely selfish, then there would be no will or meaning except as prescribed by the Saviours. There would be no freedom or escape, ever! Of course, if they were well disposed towards the Geas, everyone would lead fulfilled lives and live happily ever after.

Happily ever after? Aspin couldn’t imagine what that would involve. Life never worked like that, because there were always jealous and selfish people like Braggar, whose version of happily ever after tended to be at the expense of someone like Aspin. More than that, it was clear that Jacob was scared whenever he mentioned the Saint. Apparently, the People of the Empire had something to fear from their Saviours.

‘Don’t worry, good man Jacob. If the holy Saint always knows, he will know that we allowed speculation to get the better of us but were quick to repent once we realised our fault. Surely the holy Saint is understanding and forgiving of our imperfection.’

‘Err … yes, of course he is! That’s right, the holy one will know we meant no harm. He is … f-f-forgiving. Yes, he is forgiving. Even so, we should be sure to pray long and hard tonight.’

‘Does the Saint answer such prayers?’

Jacob’s jolly smile and relaxed attitude were now entirely gone. He looked at Aspin in horror. ‘Why would you ask that, young Aspin?’ he whispered. ‘Are you seeking to bring divine retribution down on our heads?’

‘I was just—’

‘No, young Aspin, not another word!’ Jacob interrupted, bringing Tilly and Floss to a sharp stop. ‘I do not know what Minister Stixis tolerates in Heroes’ Brook, but where I come from it does not do well to question the holy work of the representative of the blessed Saviours. Their wisdom is infinite compared to our own and far beyond our simple understanding. Look, we are not far from the town now. I suggest you step down here and go the rest of the way on your own. I have enjoyed your company, but I now have other business to which I must attend. I wish you luck in the market and good day, young Aspin of Heroes’ Brook.’

So he had found a topic that could silence Jacob the trader. A mixed blessing perhaps. Aspin could foresee that Jacob would say nothing of their conversation to anyone else but that there was also nothing Aspin could now say by way of apology or to rescue the situation. Resolving to be more careful the next time he ventured to talk to a lowlander about the Saviours, Aspin reached back for his weapon and pack and climbed down from the wagon. He waved as Jacob moved off, but the trader did not look back or otherwise acknowledge him.

The path here – which Jacob had referred to as a road – was smooth and even, so Aspin set himself a good pace, although he made sure not to go so quickly that he caught back up to Jacob’s wagon. The sky was a flat greyish silver and the wind constantly rose and fell, but the weather was pretty much dry and he did not smell any rain or snow coming either. For the time of year, this would pass for very good weather in the mountains. Plus, anyone going any sort of distance in the mountains would invariably find themselves out of breath as they ascended or holding their breath as they picked their way downwards. All in all, then, the lowlands were easy and comfortable, and Jacob’s tales had certainly painted a picture of a similarly soft and self-indulgent people. No wonder the others had taken these lands and its people with relative ease. He must not let himself be drawn in by the ready smiles and friendliness of the people, lest he forget himself and become too much like them.